


A Day In the Life

by Dana



Series: Without You, What Would I Be? [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Domesticity, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post-Game, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Pre-Slash, Soft Character Interactions, everything is still too good to be true
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 12:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15267312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: Connor needs to, as Hank would put it, get out of his own head.





	A Day In the Life

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my gosh, thanks for all the good support on my first DBH story, holy heck, I don't know what else to do other than KEEP ON WRITING. Decided to try out Connor's pov this time, in a story set prior to the first in this 'verse (series name still pending). Hope you enjoy!

Hank had, quite uncharacteristically, left for work relatively early that morning (that Connor had some positive impact upon his life, that went without saying). At a quarter to nine instead of almost noon, he'd headed out the door, after a somewhat nervous shrug, telling Connor to have a good day doing whatever it was he did when Hank wasn't around.

Hank already knew what Connor did to keep himself occupied – he'd asked, once, and Connor hadn't seen any reason to not tell him. Firstly, he'd clean up after breakfast – Hank, he could tell, liked how Connor treated him, even though he told Connor it was no big deal and he could take care of himself. Connor knew what Hank taking care of himself was like – so he would reassure Hank, yet again, that he liked being able to do this for him (it was his pleasure). After that, he would play with Sumo, then he would clean, and then he would play with Sumo some more. Over the course of the day, he would take Sumo on multiple walks – along the way, he tried to figure himself out.

He'd made a good head-start on that already… some parts of deviancy were easier to understand than others. He still had a number of aspirations. The one that gave him the greatest amount of concern was the eventuality of him returning to work with Hank. He longed to return to the DPD – how could he miss Hank if he was always there with him, back together as partners?

If Hank was having a good day, he'd text Connor to let him know he'd arrived safely at work. He didn't get why Connor worried so much about him, but at the same time, he seemed to appreciate it – and for that, Connor was glad. Pleased. _Happy_.

Connor would read and reread Hank's text message several times over before storing it away in the section of his memory that was dedicated to all things Hank. The things he liked, the things he hated, the things he did or said and the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. The way he made Connor feel something, something akin to a new purpose – happiness, and acceptance, as well as a lot of confusion. Humans were, after all, very complicated beings. It was something they had in common with deviant androids.

And if Hank was having a bad day, well… he still did have bad days. He was drinking less overall, but that didn't mean he wasn't drinking at all. It had been months – just the one time – since Connor had caught him in a blackout state, loaded gun at his side.

He knew where Hank kept that gun hidden – there were only so many hiding places around the house, and it wasn't that Connor was intentionally spying, but he was very thorough no matter what task it was he meant to accomplish. He'd found the gun once when he was cleaning, but after thinking about it, had put it back in place as though it had never been touched.

Trust was the basis of any relationship, and he did trust Hank.

That Connor never wanted to find him in that state again, it almost went without saying.

No matter what, Hank was a creature of habit. Bad day or not, he'd still come home, sometimes early, sometimes later – whenever it happened, Connor would be there for him when he did. It was like he'd found new purpose in this existence, his existence with Hank.

Maybe Markus had flipped the switch and gave him that final push into deviancy, but it was Hank who had given him something to aspire to, all along. Someone. He no longer was the android he used to be, before meeting Hank. It went beyond being deviant, being alive.

Purpose. It was something he had found lacking since Markus's revolution had won the hearts of humans across the country, across the globe, setting in motion changes that were still ongoing; Connor was no longer needed in any capacity, and he had become lost. Even when he had been offered a place at Markus's side, doing important things for the benefit of their people, it hadn't been what Connor had been looking for. In some ways, it felt too akin to what he had been when CyberLife, and Amanda, had been pulling his strings. When he'd told Markus he had appreciated the offer, but wished to find his own way, Markus had seemed overjoyed that he was making his own decisions, though saddened that Connor didn't want to stay.

He wanted to be his own person.

But sometimes, he wanted to be Hank's.

Loneliness. That was something he had been feeling whenever Hank was gone from the house for the day, and Connor was there almost completely on his own; Sumo was a good dog and Connor loved him and loved to play with him, but he wasn't very good at making conversation. Before the revolution, when Connor still had a prime directive, if he was unneeded he could have simply gone into standby-mode and rested until he was yet again needed. He did that at first after moving in with Hank, sitting on the couch and staring blankly as his LED cycled yellow; sometimes, Hank was there on the couch as well, drinking a beer and watching television. It unsettled Sumo when he sat like that and didn't react, and likely, not that the human had said anything about it, it must have bothered Hank as well.

Connor had, like his basic programming dictated, adapted.

Hank needed him, of that he was sure.

Maybe that was why he found himself straying towards a new prime directive – to better Hank's life, to make him happy in the short-term as well as the long, and see him live to an old and happy age – as though it was the most important thing in all the world. He had little enough experience in making up his mind on his own (Hank had an entire lifetime), but being able to set his own mission directives was absolutely thrilling. That Hank Anderson would be a vital component of his own happiness… he wasn't quite sure what to do with that fact. He was certain, though, that if he gave himself more time, he could process his way through to some sort of happy conclusion.

See, happiness is essential.

Four hours go by and Connor has cleaned the house, done the laundry, as well as reorganized the refrigerator along with the kitchen cupboards, throwing out products that had gone past their expiration date. He's taken Sumo on two different walks, played ball with him in the backyard, and after considering and then deciding against yet another walk, he decides to take a break. Inside the living room, he sits down on the sofa to watch some television live and catch up on the news, as Sumo takes a nap across his lap. _Lonely_. He closes his eyes, LED gone yellow as he sends a quick message to Hank, asking for his advice. It's still hours before Hank will show up at home (he already knows what he's making him for dinner).

 **> >**…  
**> >**wait  
**> >**text him again

It takes him fifteen minutes to reply, and Connor's LED is stuck on yellow the entire time. Hank tells him to think about getting a new hobby. Hank tells him, he's got good news for after he gets home, but he has to get back to work, Fowler is busting his balls.

A new hobby?

...good news?

He pets his hand through Sumo's soft fur. So incredibly soft. The sensors in his fingertips, all across his body, are far more sensitive now that he's gone deviant. It's as close as his body comes to feeling pleasure, and when the situation is right, to feeling pain.

But he does feel them, he does.

A lot. And with each passing day as a deviant, it's almost as if he feels more.

He doesn't know what to do with loneliness, or hobbies, or potential good news. All he's aware of is that he misses Hank, and after rearranging himself and Sumo as well, and letting the dog rearrange himself all over again in order to get comfortable, he's laid out on the couch with his head resting against one of the throw pillows in what he knows is a close enough approximation of how humans arrange themselves when they want to get some rest. He's seen Hank do it often enough. The couch is even his to 'sleep' on (Hank knows he doesn't actually sleep), when Hank has moved to the bedroom for the night.

Connor feels small, and greedy, and – and, confused, very confused. He would like to follow Hank into his room and sleep in bed with him, just once, just to see how it feels. He would like to hold him close, and kiss him – 

He sees how Hank looks at him, when Hank doesn't know he is watching him. But he's always watching Hank – it's just what he does. Analyzing each of his expressions, every single one of his reactions. And saving them, because they are what makes Hank _Hank_. And he feels, he'd be nothing, nothing at all, if not for Hank.

See, it all comes back down to feelings.

It all comes back to Hank.

Feelings. He is not very good with them, he's trying to get better. But, it doesn't seem that Hank is very good at them, either. Hank blusters his way through things, but Connor knows, there's so much more to him than meets the eye; and Connor, well, he's very adept at saying the wrong thing. He's glad – another new sensation – that there is something they have in common. He knows there are other things – Hank's own suicidal ideation is too akin to Connor's unnecessary recklessness in the face of danger. As though neither of them matter at all. And Hank, to Connor, Hank is the world – but telling him that would be embarrassing, at the very least, or downright unsettling at the worst. Or catastrophic. Hank had emotional ups and downs, ones that Connor was still learning to navigate. They were incredibly frustrating, he couldn't always parse them (but, like he was getting better at feelings in general, he was getting better at _Hank_ ).

But, Hank does seem to appreciate the little things that Connor does for him, as though he does in fact matter. Perhaps he wouldn't push Connor away, tell him to knock it off, tell him he's wasting his time on a washed-up deadbeat with no future of his own. That there is the strangest of all his new feelings – before, he could be easily replaced; now, it's not so certain (it's a little like fear). CyberLife isn't going to show up on Hank's doorstep and demand that Connor be returned to them for decommission – only, seeing as CyberLife had since been reclaimed by the androids who it had once created to act as humanity's slaves, that was incredibly unlikely. There was no telling how long that might last, no idea what back-up plans the humans of CyberLife might have in store to reclaim what had been theirs. But, at least for the time being, if he was all that badly injured (perhaps in the line of duty, if it ever came to that), they could mend any of his bodily hurts, as long as they were not fatal.

If they were fatal, perhaps there wouldn't be any coming back from that. A number of his biocomponents were simply not compatible with any other models. It was easier to download his memory into a new unit instead of worrying about fixing one that was damaged.

Once upon a time, Connor had simply been one of many – there were dozens of other RK800s waiting to be activated, in case he failed in his mission. In the chaos that befell the company after the android revolution concluded peacefully, all the RK800s that hadn't yet been activated were destroyed, their biocomponents unsalvageable. Perhaps it had been Amanda who had seen to their destruction – he had betrayed her, after all. 

Betrayed who he was meant to be.

Connor thinks, and thinks some more, LED still on yellow. He hasn't told Hank how he is now one of a kind. Because Hank would worry, and one of these days, Connor wants more than anything to go back to work with him. They were a very good team, and he liked working with Hank almost more than anything else. It was what he was best at, after all – and he knew how to be careful. He knew not to put himself at constant risk. But if it came to his life, or Hank's – well, he knew what choice he would make.

There was no doubt at all in his mind.

But Connor simply doesn't know. He needs to, as Hank would put it, get out of his own head. He has a few options.

 **> >**take Sumo on another walk  
**> >**find something else to clean  
**> >**go into standby

So, after quickly making up his mind, he closes his eyes and, after setting a timer to wake thirty minutes before Hank will arrive home (there's been no suggestion that Hank might come home late), he puts himself into standby-mode as Sumo sleeps contentedly on top of his legs.

Connor doesn't dream. He doesn't do anything at all, though there are background scans running diagnostics as the shell of his body rests. He wakes, feeling no different than when he had first put himself into standby. Goes through the diagnostic logs, and dismisses them one by one. Nothing out of the ordinary, just as he'd expected.

Sumo has moved as Connor had rested, and Connor follows him into the kitchen. The dog has settled down to nap beside his empty food bowl, waking when he hears the food rattling about as Connor refills it. He gives the dog a fond pat on the head, then goes to wash his hands. It's time to prepare Hank's dinner.

After organizing the refrigerator earlier in the day, Connor knows it's time to inform Hank that a grocery shopping expedition is in order (in Hank's own words, that'd be up to Connor – he's always hated domestic bullshit like that, no wonder he consumed so much take-out). But there's chicken, and two different raw seasonal vegetables that haven't yet expired, and rice – more than enough to make a reasonable meal for one.

 _Longing_. Now that androids are able to own property, and run businesses, CyberLife and the androids that mostly run it are doing good things for their people; plenty of quality of life upgrades have been released so far, with more to come in the future. Connor would like to sit down and enjoy a meal with Hank. Oh, he can eat – he was made to exist harmoniously with humans, after all – but beyond him simply fitting in, there's no purpose. There's an ache in his chest, as though his thirium pump regulator has grown too heavy for him to stand. It's close to uncomfortable. The sensation is more than he wishes to endure.

Endure. If he endures long enough, perhaps then he could enjoy that small thing, too.

He hears the engine to Hank's car cut off as he plates up the food and prepares to set it on the table. There is a beer sitting out already, and an empty glass that he will soon fill with water. Connor could make him stop drinking altogether, if he tried – but he is, what is he, _scared_ , scared, yes, that it might be to much. Hank is his own person, with his own demons to bear. If Connor pushed him too hard, maybe Hank would push back.

Deviant hunter. An android who hunted his own kind, seeking out his human masters' approval. Even when it all had ended well, too well, CyberLife had still fought to reclaim control of his systems – so that he could kill Markus, and throw it all away; so that every android that had fought so hard, and for the ones who had died, their struggle would have been for nothing. They would have been slaves again – Connor would have been a slave again. Or they would have all been deactivated, and destroyed, and Cyberlife would have started over from the beginning.

See, Connor has his own demons, as well – ones that Hank are completely unaware of. In his own way, he understands.

The key in the door alerts Sumo that his human has returned home. His tail is thumping happily against the floor as he sits waiting for him, boofing as Hank comes into the house. 'Hey there, buddy,' Hank announces as Sumo jumps up to greet him. 'Yeah, yeah, it's good to see you too.'

Connor smiles as he takes the pitcher and fills Hank's glass with water. 'Good evening, Lieutenant.'

Sumo's at Hank's side, tail still wagging as Hank stops at the unmarked divide between the living room in the kitchen. He'd taken his jacket off already, and his expression is equal parts pleased and exhausted as he gazes into the kitchen. 'Connor, hey.'

Connor returns his smile. It makes him feel something warm inside, and he definitely likes how that makes him feel. 'How was your day?'

'Same as usual. How was yours?'

Connor tilts his side to the head as he smiles. 'Same as usual.'

Hank breaks into a broad smile. Something hotter than hot flicks about Connor's insides, and he assigns that one another name – contentment, perhaps? He reaches for the beer bottle and, after striding to Hank's side, passes it over to him. Their fingers touch and that same hot something flicks about inside him. He decides that, whatever it is, he likes that feeling. He likes that feeling a lot.

It seems like some sort of an understatement, really.

That smile, he decides, is somehow different than any other one that Hank has given him. He decides to save it away for later, for when he is feeling – down, or lost? – he isn't quite sure. But it was a moment that needed to be remembered, and Connor will remember.

'What's for dinner?'

'Nothing much. Chicken with mixed seasonal vegetables, as well as some rice.'

'Nothing much? You spoil me, Connor.' Sumo woofs, tail wagging happily. 'And the damn dog too.'

'Only because I want to,' he says, smiling beaming. Hank grins and ruffles Connor's hair with his hand, which causes a rush of pleasant heat to Connor's cheeks, all down his neck. 'You must be hungry,' he says, stepping to the side to claim his seat. Even though there's no reason for him to eat, Hank likes it when he sits and makes small talk with him – honestly, Connor likes it too.

Hank's smirking at him before he takes a drink of his beer. But he quickly settles into his seat across from Connor, dropping down heavily into it. He sighs heavily and starts to eat, stopping from time to time to gaze across the table at Connor. Just stares at him a minute, before going back to eating. The required small talk hasn't begun yet, and Connor wonders if Hank is waiting for him to start. He certainly hasn't said anything out of the ordinary. He certainly hasn't mentioned any _good news_.

'You told me to consider a new hobby.'

'Oh yeah – how did that go?'

'No idea as of yet. I'll think more about it later.'

'Good. Of course…'

Connor leans forward, hands clutching at the table's edge. 'Yes?'

Hank smirks, sets his fork back down. 'What's got you so worked up?'

Connor knows Hank is teasing him, teasing him because he likes him, because they are friends. Connor grins as he shrugs, and gives Hank a quick scan – his temperate has raised by two degrees, and his BPM has gone up by ten. 'I don't know, Lieutenant – why don't you tell me what's got _you_ so worked up, and we can compare notes?'

Hank wipes his mouth with a napkin, then tosses it aside. 'You little shit.'

'Was dinner enjoyable?'

'Like always, Connor – you're a really good cook.'

'Thank you,' Connor says, beaming. 'I was aware of that already, but it always is good to be reminded.' He only picked up cooking, after all, because he was cooking for Hank. Having a direct hand in his meals meant that Hank was eating far more healthfully than before. Sumo whines, and Connor shakes his head. 'Sorry, Sumo – I'll let you out so you can do your business.'

After he's done that, backyard light switched on as Sumo romps about the yard, he turns to face Hank. He hesitates, then makes up his mind, hand still lingering beside the switch. 'You had something to tell me?'

Hank shrugs. 'Relax, Connor, I'm not going anywhere. Let me get comfortable first.'

'Alright, Lieutenant.' Connor nearly sighs, instead bites at his lip.

Hank leaves the kitchen and turns down the hall to head to the bathroom. If Connor gives him time he'll return and clean up after himself, only, Connor never gives him the time. The dishes are washed and put away by the time that Hank reappears in the living room, having himself taken a shower; he was in a pair of sweats and one of his freshly laundered shirts. His hair is still somewhat damp.

'You did my laundry again.' He states it as a fact, and Connor shrugs.

'I had nothing else to do. And I've told you before, I don't mind helping you out around the house. It isn't as if I am able to pay you rent.'

'Hell, Connor,' Hank sighs, running a hand back through his freshly washed hair. Connor wonders what it would feel like, against the synthetic skin of his fingers, to do the same, and tangle his fingers in Hank's hair. 'You sleep on the couch, it's hardly a luxury suite. Anyhow, it's not like you're going to have the time any more, not when...' He flops down onto the couch and throws his arms out wide. Sumo, who Connor had let back in during the interim, sits in front of him, rests his head on Hank's knee as he whines at him. 'Oh don't you give me that look.'

 _Not when..._ An unneeded breath catches in Connor's throat. What could Hank have meant by that? Still, Connor smiles as Hank pets the dog's head, scratching behind his ears and telling him what a good boy he is.

'Hey – you gonna stay in there all night?'

'Ah, no.' Connor hesitates. 'Would you like another drink?'

Hank doesn't answer right away, but when he does, Connor beams. 'No, I think I'm good.'

'I'll be right there.'

And he is, after switching the kitchen light off. He takes a seat to the right of Hank, an arm's length away from him. _Want_. He closes his eyes, remembers a cold winter's day, at the end of one world and the beginning of another. Hank had hugged him and Connor, not sure of what else he should do, had wrapped his arms around the man, though he hadn't quite known what to do with his hands. When Hank finally started to pull away, he'd told Connor that if he didn't have anywhere else to go, Connor could go home with him.

Connor had never felt so wanted, so needed. Hank couldn't have been asking just for _him_. Connor could have found his place at Markus's side, if he tried very hard – and he did still sometimes work with him, if his presence was needed – but, it never would have been the same.

That hug in the cold, it's one of his most cherished memories. He replays it at least once a day, sometimes only having it play in the background – it isn't as if he couldn't pay attention to that and a half dozen other tasks at the same time. Mostly, though, it requires his full attention, because he _wants_ to pay attention. The cold on his skin, flecks of softly falling snow, the warmth of Hank's body against him. The smell of him, the feel of his heartbeat, thrumming against Connor's chest.

He'd adjusted himself, slightly, so that his thirium pump regulator was beating in time with Hank's heart.

But that was then. It seemed a whole world behind him, when things hadn't been so certain. And now, Connor is at least certain of a few definite things – this is where he belongs, beside Hank. He has never, in all his previous existence, had anything like this: a home.

He slants a look sideways at Hank, suppresses a sigh – it's not like he needs to breathe, and anyway, it might garner some unwanted attention. He processes Hank's words, his actions since returning home. He doesn't feel as though he is stepping out of line when he says, 'Was there something you wanted to tell me?'

'Oh, yeah.' Hank rubs a hand across his forehead.

Connor leans forward, hands still pressed to his legs. 'Lieutenant, please. What did you mean by that – that, I wouldn't have the time?'

A smirk twitches at the corner of Hank's mouth. 'Sorry, kid, just messing with your head – hope it hasn't been bothering you too much.'

'No, not really – but yes,' he pauses, 'it has been bothering me. I have some idea where you might be going with it, but… but I want to hear it from your mouth, please.'

Hank's cheeks have gone red as he blushes. Connor, not having expected that reaction, smiles gently. Hank is wonderfully confusing, almost all the time.

'Just, you know.' He shrugs. 'There's a place for you at the DPD, I mean, if you still want it...'

Connor gasps and, without really thinking about what he does, springs at Hank, hugging him. Hank, after a momentary pause, huffs and wraps an arm around him, crushing Connor's body to him. 'I guess that's a yes.'

'Yes, it is. I'll miss spending my days with Sumo, but…' He draws back, one of his hands still set upon Hank's arm, the fingers of one of Hank's hand curled against the sofa cushion, just barely touching Connor's knee. Heat flicks about in the facsimile of Connor's guts, and he smiles broadly.

'But I've missed spending time with you.'

Hank huffs again, shaking his head. 'I know you're good at it, Connor, but it's nothing to get excited over. I don't want you ending up doing something stupid, and getting yourself hurt.'

Connor frowns, but he won't let Hank's words drag him down. 'Your own safety is my top concern, Lieutenant – once I join you again at work, the likelihood of you being injured in the line of duty will decrease dramatically.'

Hank frowns. 'Shit, shit – Connor, don't say things like that. I'm not worth it.'

More of that heat flicking about, and Connor's LED flashes red as he shakes his head – _angry_ , his stress levels shooting up phenomenally. 'You are definitely worth it. Nothing you can or ever could say is going to make me think otherwise.'

'Geez, Connor.' He covers his face with his hand, sagging back against the sofa cushions. 'You just never stop…'

Connor sets his hand on Hank's chest – Hank jolts, lowering his hand, but all he does his stare at Connor, eyes wide, cheeks still ruddy. 'I never will. You…' He flounders. _Uncertainty_. He doesn't know what to say. He closes his eyes and focuses on his own internal HUD.

 **> >**reassure  
**> >**remind  
**> >**change subject

As Hank's BPM increases steadily, Connor's hand to his chest, there's really only one choice he can make. 'I'll have to make sure my suit is washed and pressed. I haven't had a reason to wear it in some time now.' He still wore old clothes of Hanks, if he was in the mind to, even though he had clothing of his own.

Hank relaxes visibly, heart still thumping, but in less of an uncertain panic. 'We both know it's ready to go already, but you go double check it, if that's what you want.' He grins. The tension has lessened, his LED has cycled back to blue; Hank is much calmer. Connor's own stress levels are continuing to decrease, and will soon return to 0%.

Connor smiles in return, pats his chest, and then his arm. The sensors on his hand like what they find. He almost closes his eyes, enjoying the softness of Hank's shirt, the warmth of his body seeping through.

'I'll do that later. Right now…'

'Huh?'

He rests sideways against Hank, his head against Hank's shoulder. 'Is this okay?'

He feels Hank tense up, and then he nods. 'Yeah, sure. Is this okay?' He wraps his arm around Connor's back, his hand coming to lightly rest on Connor's hip.

'Yes, Lieutenant. It's perfect.'

'Huh,' Hank pauses. 'Perfect.' He squeezes Connor a little more tightly, and oh, yes, Connor definitely likes that. It feels nice. Not nearly as nice as hugging him, and perhaps one day, he will finally know what it's like to kiss him. He can compare his reactions then, and only then. It's something humans do when they like each other, right? And he definitely likes Hank.

'Guess I'll just watch some tv. You do you, Connor.'

'Okay.' Connor closes his eyes, and wills himself to go into standby, knowing that he will wake as soon as Hank begins to move.

**Author's Note:**

> Posting is still traumatic kthxbai.
> 
> Next thing I plan on writing, it's probably going to be shameless PWP.


End file.
